


homebound

by shepherd



Series: Hug Ignis Week [3]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Adoption, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Gen, Hugs, Kid Fic, Pre-Canon, dad cor leonis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2020-12-07 14:49:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20977679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shepherd/pseuds/shepherd
Summary: Cor gestured helplessly to the organised chaos he had created. He was skilled in a great many things and composing a child’s room was not one of them. “Got you a bed,” he said, and winced at how obvious it all was. “Some space for your books, your clothes. Room for toys.” In the resounding silence, Cor cleared his throat. “Whatever you want, really.”





	homebound

It wasn’t much. Cor had known that from the moment of conception, and it was never meant to be the end all, be all – but standing in the doorway, stripped down to his tank top and jeans and very much out of breath, that stifling feeling of shame clogged up his chest.

He had overstepped. Again. It was the frustration and embarrassment of never knowing when to leave well enough alone. He was a man grown, and still fumbling his way through social interaction, the unspoken rules of politeness. It was acceptable as a teen to never know any better, but now it was just pathetic.

With luck the whole affair might have been salvageable. But the extent of the hit to Cor’s pride would no doubt be vast.

He cleared his throat and stood awkwardly, arms settling across his chest. “It’s not quite done,” he excused, even if by Regis’ most basic guidelines it was. All the necessary items were there, and child proofed, and there was a tall window and plenty of space. It was good enough. Far better than what Cor’s had as a child.

But _damnit_, Cor wanted something _good_.

At his side Ignis was quiet, as he always was. Even now he still clutched his briefcase, as if for dear life. It was worn in every edge, corners peeling – it was the king’s when he was a child, so long ago it almost seemed like another lifetime. Old and discoloured stickers were peeling away on the inside. Ignis’ little fist clutched the plastic handle and anxious eyes took in the room around him. The boy seemed to become smaller and smaller with each passing moment, simply shrinking away. Sunlight from the windows made his glossy, thick hair gleam.

A thousand dust bunnies drifted down. The light was good in this room, almost the best in the house. It had been Cor’s favourite and he had made it into a study. All that light was perfection and the carpet was the softest here. There was enough space for his oak desk and several bookshelves. It was the only viable room for a growing boy, if he were willing. Cor had done his very best to make a nice little occasion even if he hadn’t realised just how dusty the tops of the bookshelves had become. He had coughed hard the whole time he had vacuumed, lungs cloying.

Cor gestured helplessly to the organized chaos he had created. He was skilled in a great many things and composing a child’s room was not one of them. “Got you a bed,” he said, and winced at how obvious it all was. “Some space for your books, your clothes. Room for toys.” In the resounding silence, Cor cleared his throat. “Whatever you want, really.”

Ignis took it all in. Little hands flexed around the case handle, but his expression showed nothingness. He was a picture, as always. Eyes bright and hair artfully frazzled, unable to lay straight despite Aulea’s best attempts. Ignis was one of the sweetest children Cor had ever seen, and Cor knew that was deliberate. He knew the habits and mannerisms of a child desperate to sink into the background all too well.

Cor wouldn’t let it happen. There had to be a fuss, or nothing. Ignis had to know that he was wanted.

It was all brand-new furniture, rich oak for the bedframe and the cabinets. A nightlight rest atop the bedside, shaped like a children’s cartoon character Cor knew well from sitting in with Gladio in the mornings. The bed was piled with colourful blankets that Cor had found and put on a spin cycle to get rid of the cloying scent of the store. He had been unable to resist them, his rough palm against the fuzz. Cor had left them neatly folded as he spent the whole weekend hauling out his old furniture, driving it across the city to leave in storage. There had been a dozen bruises and the ache in his arms still lingered, and Cor refused to take a break.

He hauled boxes up the stairs from dawn until dusk, from Ignis yawning awake in the Citadel to settling down for the night, belly full and piled in blankets. When Cor’s arms became too sore to function, he simply though of the little boy without a real home, still so withdrawn and sitting vulnerable within the Citadel, little more than a den of coiling snakes. Shut away in boring white walls, heavy books too complex for his age far out of his reach, and not a single toy to call his own.

It didn’t bear thinking about. But even more so was the unwieldly, huge Steiff teddy bear that Cor had brought on a whim.

Balanced on Ignis’ carefully made bed, it’s fur was the same golden brown as Ignis’ hair. Its glass amber eyes were gazing out at the two of them. Ignis stared back. Cor pretended he couldn’t see it happening right in front of him.

“We can paint the bookcase and the walls, if you want,” he offered, scratching the back of his ear. It wasn’t itchy. “I can help – well, I’m sure lots of people would want to help. And whatever colour you like.”

Ignis looked up at him, having to crane his neck. His eyes were piercing, little jade stones polished bright. Sometimes it was hard to hold his gaze.

“You don’t have to,” Cor said, thankful he didn’t flounder as much as he feared. Somehow his voice remained steady and he held Ignis’ eyes. “Just a thought.”

Ignis exhaled very softly. His nostrils flared and his suitcase hit the ground, a solid strike, case full of as many clothes and books as Cor was willing to let a child carry. The rest waited in his truck, awaiting their rightful place. Cor had not yet dared give voice to that thought, however. The doubt still scratched from deep within.

“If you want, you could always,” Cor began, and then a little body collided hard with his legs.

Little arms wrapped tight around his calves. Ignis’ head barely came up to his thigh and the boy squished his cheeks up, eagerly. He clung on and Cor barely stopped himself from reeling back in surprise. His only saviour was a steady hand against the doorframe.

“Oh,” Cor said, plainly, and Ignis did not budge. Helplessly, he could only settle a careful hand upon Ignis’ head and marvelled. That honey coloured head of hair was almost impossibly soft. Ignis ran hot and held on tight.

Time froze. Cor was left reeling, shock still. Prompto clung to him the same way, sometimes, but he was not yet four and a very affectionate child. Prompto came in the form of tiny hands that fisted the lapels of his jacket, and a mouth always attempting to gum the shiny metal of his buttons. It warmed Cor’s heart no matter how gross it could be, listening to his content coo’ing when Cor kissed the wild blonde tufts that grew longer and thicker with each day.

But Ignis of all children embracing him was a whole other beast. It wasn’t to say Ignis wasn’t as affectionate – he held and kissed Noctis easily, and had recently become just brave enough to sit hand in hand with Regis while the adults sat and talked politics over tea, giving Ignis a little slice of cake when he was good, and he was always good. But sometimes he trembled still. He shied away from soldiers and sometimes still shook in the presence of Clarus, too tall and solemn.

Ignis never hugged. And that was fine – Cor would not force affection on anyone who did not welcome it.

Cor never dreamed that Ignis might hug him. Cor had walked into this Thursday afternoon like any other, tired and ready for a busy day at work before he brought Ignis to what could have been home. They could have worked their way up with Ignis staying a few nights a week, to sitting in on shopping trips where Cor picked out his favourite things. Maybe one day he would be uncle Cor, and Ignis would hug him hello and goodbye. Regis fed and harboured him in the absence of a parent, treated him with kindness, and had yet received no hug.

“Hey,” Cor murmured when words returned to him. It took touching Ignis’ little shoulders to realise just how badly his hands shook. He swallowed and the heat in his chest only deepened. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay,” he said, more to himself than the boy. “There’s no pressure,” he explained helplessly, and it was another minute before Ignis pulled away.

Cor’s words felt awkward, clumsy in their good intent, and he found himself grateful there was no time to speak. Ignis abandoned the doorway and quickly made it over to his bed, carefully touching the foot of the grand teddy bear. If he spread his fingers as wide as he could, he could just about grip the paw in his hand. Suddenly faced with Ignis’ look of absolute wonder, it didn’t seem so intently like overkill, no matter the hundreds he had spent on it alone.

Clarus would almost certainly laugh at him, though. That was a guarantee.

Clambering up next to it, Ignis had accidentally forgotten the manners that seemed engraved in even a six-year-old. Dusty shoes went all over the ocean blue sheets. He carelessly settled against his bear, fascinated by the trademark button in his ear.

Assured at the sight, Cor found a stronger voice. “Think he needs a name,” he called, and the room seemed that much brighter when Ignis looked up, finally meeting Cor’s eyes and smiling widely. He leaned back against the bear’s belly, sinking into the softness, and Cor laughed a little at the pleased surprise in Ignis’ eyes.

“It’s squishy,” he half complained, voice lightly cracked from disuse, but still lay ungracefully sprawled, finally the picture of childhood sweetness in his formal pants and strictly ironed shirt.

Laughing at his incredulity, leaning against the doorframe still, Cor said, “Squishy is a good name.”

Ignis wriggled deeper into the plush. A frown creased his brows. “Squishy,” he repeated, and lay back in a beat of silence. “Fluffy.” He tried, but shook his head. “Squishy,” he said affirmingly, and Cor smiled.

“Squishy Scientia, huh?”

It was cute. Cor wasn’t very good at cute. As hard as he tried when it came to Noctis it felt wrong for a man like him. Too grizzled, too sour. But Prompto’s sweetness counteracted it all, Regis’ determined belief that Cor was at his centre a force of good fuelling it all. Cute was a work in progress, and maybe Ignis could speed it along.

“You and Squishy can stay,” he said, and Ignis looked up. Squishy stared unendingly. “As long as you like. We can paint your room, put you into school, get you a bigger bookcase,” he promised, and then blanched. “Only if you want to stay, of course. King Regis is always happy to have you.”

There was a ribbon tied neatly around Squishy’s neck. Ignis grabbed it and began to fuss with it.

His rooms in the Citadel were sprawling and well attended. The staff of common blood adored him, snuck him candies and toys, and Ignis was never far from some of the finest food in Lucis. But it was lonely, and Cor couldn’t bear to think of him there. The same way he couldn’t leave Prompto amongst the snow and steel, he couldn’t leave Ignis to linger in such lofty, isolating heights where those who schemed would sink their claws into him.

Cor knew such a childhood. A commoner, lost amongst the warren of the rich and the dreamers, looked down upon. And Cor was tough – he could withstand the harsh words and the violence. A child as soft as Ignis would be lost in the crushing depths.

Ignis nodded, miniscule. Those fingers still worked at the green ribbon. “Please,” he said, barely audible, and Cor smiled as reassuringly as he could muster, relief paramount.

“Of course. Prompto would love to have you here,” he swore, and Ignis for the first time looked utterly thrilled. For one so quiet, every expression was written so clearly across his face.

“Thank you,” Ignis murmured, leaning so far back into his new friend that all was visible was his gleaming brown loafers and the mussed tufts of hair. There was a pinkness to his cheeks, a sugary touch to his new smile, and Cor knew this would be the end of him.


End file.
